


No Returns

by blankety blank (doll_revolution)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doll_revolution/pseuds/blankety%20blank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim, and Blair go to the hospital.  Things get worse, and then better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Returns

## No Returns

by Blankety

Pet Fly and Paramount own these characters, and I do not. Make of that what you wish.

As always, for the goddess Alyjude. 

I stole great honkin' themes of this story from ALyjude's "Trying Times" (which you should go read - it's better AND longer)  
But hey: imitation's the sincerest form of flattery, right? (Right?)

* * *

Simon Banks and Blair Sandburg crossed their arms over their chests and glared in unison at the man lying in the hospital bed. Undaunted, Jim Ellison glared right back and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. "I'm going home." 

Simon reached out and placed a hand on Jim's chest. "You're staying overnight." 

Jim irritably batted the hand away. "I'm leaving. Sandburg, hand me my pants." 

"You're STAYING, Detective. Don't make me repeat myself." 

"Dammit, Simon, I'm fine! There's no reason for me to stay here!" 

Blair stepped in between the two men. "Look, Jim, at least wait until the doctor comes back, see what he has to say, okay?" 

Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. "Et tu, Blair?" 

Blair rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud, Jim, you make it sound like we're trying to get you committed or something. You were missing for five hours, you were found drugged and unconscious in your truck, I don't think we're overreacting in wanting you to at least TALK to the doctor!" 

"Whatever. But I still think-" Jim's complaints were cut off as the doctor entered the room. "Detective Ellison? I'm Dr. McKay." His raised an eyebrow at Blair's quickly smothered laugh. 

Blair waved a hand. "Sorry, man, private joke." 

"Hmm. Yes, well." He flipped open the chart he was carrying. "You, Detective Ellison, have been injected with some type of hallucinogen. The lab hasn't been able to identify the exact drug as of yet." He looked up and smiled. "That's the bad news." 

Jim didn't return his smile. "I assume there's good news?" 

"Yes, indeed. The level of the drug in your blood is already half that of what it was when you were admitted. Your body is processing it quite quickly. If you continue at this rate, it should be completely out of your system by, say, six tomorrow morning." 

"So there's no reason for me to stay here." 

"Oh, well. Now, I wouldn't say that, Detective. Since we don't know what the drug is, we don't know what it's supposed to DO, do you see what I mean? It's best if you stay where you can be observed." 

"Sandburg can observe me. At home. Which is where I'm going. Now." Jim began to stand up, but was stopped by Blair's hand on his chest. Jim glared; Blair just waved a hand at him. "Shush a moment, okay Jim?" 

Blair turned to the doctor, ignoring Jim's outraged look. "Look, Jim's not seeing things, he's not high and out of control, he's not bleeding from the ears or ANYTHING, so what's the point of the drug? I mean, why give it to him?" 

"As I told Detective Ellison, Mr. ah, ah..." 

"Sandburg." 

"Ah, Mr. Sandburg. Yes, well, as I told Detective Ellison, we have yet to identify the drug. So I really have no idea..." 

"Your best guess, Doctor. Your best educated guess." 

Dr. McKay rubbed a finger along his nose. "A guess. Hmm, well, then. The drug's chemical structure is somewhat similar to that of drugs I've seen during my psychiatric rotations. My best guess, gentlemen, --and it's only a guess, I MUST stress that- would be that it was used to make him more vulnerable to suggestion." 

Simon pushed away from the wall and fixed the doctor with a steely glare. "Suggestion? What KIND of suggestion?" 

Dr. McKay shrugged. "Oh, lord knows. To kill someone, to steal something, to find out confidential information-- there must be a plethora of useful endeavors for a police officer under one's control." 

Jim slapped a hand against the bed. "I am NOT under anyone's control!" 

"That you know of, Detective, and that's really the crux of the matter, is it not?" Dr. McKay sighed, and closed his chart. "I can't force you to stay here, Detective. But I would recommend it. In fact, I highly recommend it. Now if you will excuse me, I have other patents to attend to. Good night, gentlemen." 

All three men watched in silence as the doctor left. As the door closed, Jim turned to Simon, a stubborn look on his face. "I'm going home." 

"Dammit, Jim, you don't even remember what happened! As far as you're concerned, you went to lunch and you woke up in the hospital, and NOTHING happened in-between! That does NOT sound fine to me!" 

Jim reigned in his temper, clenching his jaw so hard he could hear it creak. He let out his breath in an irritated whoosh. He had to think of a way to convince Simon he was okay to leave. "Sir, look. Right now, I don't have any burning desires to go out and do something criminal, okay? But that could change. This is a public place, people come and go. Someone could come in dressed as an orderly, and give me a command. I'm not safe here." 

"Come on, Jim! Do you really think I'll buy that load your shoveling?" 

Jim raised a hand. "Wait a minute and think, Simon. Blair and I go home. We lock ourselves in, we don't talk to anyone, we don't let anyone in. We don't even watch TV or listen to the radio. Okay? So unless Blair here is in on the conspiracy, who's going to give me my evil commands? We'll stay in and quiet until noon, six hours PAST when the drug will be out of my system." 

Simon opened his mouth to speak, but Blair beat him to it. "Jim, that only works if the doctor guessed RIGHT about what the drug does. What if he's wrong? What if we get home and you start to convulse or something?" 

"Then you call 911, Einstein. We're five minutes from the hospital, I think I'll live." 

"What if five minutes isn't enough? What then?" 

"Then I'll die, and you'll have the satisfaction of being right. Okay? Everyone happy now? "Cause I'm leaving no matter WHAT you two say." 

Jim stood up and started getting dressed. Simon and Blair exchanged resigned looks, as if to say 'what a stubborn fucking bastard!'. Simon shrugged, and began putting on his coat. "It's a load of crap, and you're an ass, Jim. Go home and die, see if I care." He turned to Blair. "Sandburg, I expect you to keep him under control. First sign of anything hinky, you call 911 first and me second, understand?" 

Blair snapped a surprisingly crisp salute. "Sir, yes Sir!" 

"I'm too old for this crap." Simon pulled a cigar from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. "Go home. I don't want to hear from either of you until noon tomorrow." He stormed from the room, muttering under his breath. 

Blair turned back to Jim, and found him already putting on his coat. "'Keep him under control, Sandburg.' Like I'm some kind of psycho or loose cannon." 

Blair patted Jim on the arm. "Ah, but you're OUR psycho loose cannon, aren't you Jimmy? Let's go home." 

Jim sighed. "I hate everybody." 

* * *

Blair looked around the loft in satisfaction. All the doors and windows were locked, curtains drawn, stereo and TV unplugged. "There! I think that's everything. Is it everything? Hey, Jim? You're the ex-Ranger. What do you think? Is our perimeter secure?" 

Jim rolled his eyes. "What I think, Sandburg, is that you've been watching too many Van Damme movies. Perimeter, my ass. If you mean we're locked down enough that I'm starting to feel slightly claustrophobic, than yeah: we're 'secure'." 

"Bite me, Ellison. When your programming kicks in and you try to kill the President or whatever, you'll be thanking me for being so thorough." 

"I don't HAVE any programming! And I can promise you: it won't be the President that I'll be killing!" 

"Whatever, man." Blair waved a hand in front of his face. "I'll tell you what: you're killing me here with your own stink. How can you stand yourself? Go take a shower or something before the paint peels." 

Jim reflexively flipped Blair off, stopped, bent his head and sniffed, blinked twice, and moved quickly into the bathroom. Within thirty seconds the shower turned on. 

"Yes!" Blair pumped his arm and did a little dance. "Sandburg: 1, Annoyingly Stubborn Anal Cop Roomie: 0." He danced a little more. "I am GOOD, man! Oh, shit! I forgot the phones!" He ran upstairs and unplugged the base of the cordless phone in Jim's room. As he turned to go back downstairs, he heard the phone in the living room begin to ring. 

"Aw, fuck!" He took the stairs two at time, and skidded across the floor just in time to hear a totally naked, dripping wet Jim say "Hey, no problem." Jim hung up, and tossed the phone on the couch. 

"Dammit, Jim! You're not supposed to answer the phone! Incommunicado, remember?" 

Jim stepped around Blair as if he were invisible, and headed for the front door. 

"Very funny, Jim! Now go put some clothes on, you're scaring the horses." 

Jim kept moving. Blair scooted around him and leaned up against the door. "Okay, okay, you're the man, all right? Now stop fucking with me." 

Jim looked at him without an ounce of warmth in his eyes. "Move, Sandburg." 

Blair swallowed noisily, his throat suddenly dry. /Shit, I don't think he's joking! What am I supposed to do NOW?/ He coughed. "Who was that on the phone?" 

Jim's eyes narrowed, and when he spoke his voice was as cold and dead as winter. "I said move." 

Blair shivered, and then stiffened his spine. He put every possible Guide nuance into his voice as he asked again, "Who was that on the phone?" 

"Verma. It's, I have to... Verma. I have to go." Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed, making Blair moan in pain. "Move." 

Blair tried to twist away from the crushing grip. "Jim, you're hurting me! Jim, wait! You can't go anywhere like that! You're naked, Jim. Naked! People will notice, they'll stop you!" 

Jim tilted his head, thinking, and Blair pressed his advantage. "I bet Verma wouldn't like that, huh, if you were noticed? Go get dressed, okay? Go upstairs, put on some clothes, and then you can go." 

"Then I can go?" 

Blair nodded vigorously. "Yeah, man, you can go wherever you want. Just get dressed first. Get dressed, and then you can leave." 

Jim looked at Blair a moment longer, and then shoved him into the door as he turned to go up the stairs. Blair slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his shoulder throbbing. As soon as Jim disappeared from view, he scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the phone, hitting the speed dial. 

<Banks!>

"Simon! You have to get back here, man! Jim's gone nuts, he tried to leave naked, he HURT me Simon and I-" 

<Slow down, Sandburg! Jim's naked? What the hell-- >

"I CAN'T slow down, Dr. McKay was right, you need to get back here, no WAY I can stop Jim by myself, he's trying to leave-" 

<Are you yanking my chain?>

"It's not a joke, it's a fucking SOS, Simon! I need help, just get back here, okay? I can't-" The rest of his sentence was cut off as Jim grabbed his throat, squeezed, and threw him over the back of the couch. 

Blair hit the floor hard, coughing. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and saw Jim stomping the phone to pieces. He staggered to his feet and stumbled over to the door. Still coughing, he threw all three deadbolts shut and put on the security chain. /Oh, yeah, THAT'S going to stop Jim./ He leaned against the door, spread his legs, and braced himself. /Just got to keep Jim here till Simon comes. No problem./ His eyes widened as Jim stalked towards him, his eyes dark with anger. /Fuck, this is going to hurt./ 

Later, Blair's memories of the fight were mostly of sounds, as if the whole thing had happened in the dark. The creak and sudden snap! of bones breaking. The quiet, steady dripping of blood. The harsh rasping of his breath as he forced himself to his feet one more time. The grunt of effort pushed through Jim's mouth as he threw another punch. The hollow thump his head made when it hit the wall. 

Finally, Blair just could not get up again. His last thought, as he watched Jim's foot make a strangely slow-motion arc towards his head, was how pissed Jim was going to be about all the blood on the floor. He slid gratefully into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Jim sat in the darkened hospital room, listening to the quiet, reassuring beeps of the monitoring equipment. He had dialed his sight up when it had started to get dark, but one look at the bruised and bandaged face had him dialing down so fast he almost blinded himself. Now he just listened. 

He didn't turn his head as Simon entered the room and leaned against the wall behind him. Jim could almost feel the impatience rolling off the other man, but he didn't want to interrupt his vigil. Finally, though, Jim spoke. 

"Were you the one who Tazered me, Sir?" 

"Yes." 

"Did I say thank you?" 

"No." 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome, you asshole. Look, Jim-" 

"I almost KILLED him, Simon! My best friend in all the world, and I almost killed him! It's bad enough that I drag him in to my world, let every psycho in the Pacific Northwest take a crack at him, but then I, ME, the guy he trusts to watch his back, I almost KILL him!" 

Jim could hear Simon sigh heavily, and then a scraping sound, as if Simon were scrubbing his hand over his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was weary. "Jim, you didn't do anything, okay? YOU didn't hurt Blair." 

Jim held a hand out to Simon. "I didn't hurt him? I suppose my knuckles are all swollen because...what? Early-onset arthritis? And these AREN'T Blair's teeth marks? And I'm not covered, fucking COVERED in blood, Blair's bl-" He broke off, despair overwhelming him. 

Simon took a step forward and put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jim, it was the drug, not you. You would NEVER hurt Blair. He knows that, we ALL know that." 

Jim shook off Simon's hand, not wanting the comfort. "Yeah, well, tell that to Sandburg, I'm sure he'll appreciate it. Oh, wait! He's unconscious, due to a major concussion that I gave him. You'll just have to wait until he wakes up. IF he wakes up." 

Simon narrowed his eyes. "Snap out of it, Detective! This pathetic display of self-pity isn't helping anyone!" 

Jim finally turned to face Simon, who felt his resolve waver at the pain and disgust easily visible in his friend's eyes. Simon softened his tone, almost as if he were trying to calm a wounded animal. "Jim, he'll be all right. The doctors said it's a healing sleep, he'll wake up on his own in a couple of hours. He doesn't need you here right now." 

Jim shook his head. "I'm not leaving him, Simon." 

"Yes, you are, Jim. We found Verma." 

Jim just shrugged. 

"It's not a person, it's a group. A kind of gang network group, if you can believe it. And that McKay was right: they were going to use you to get confidential information, about investigations, stings, undercover cops, that kind of thing." 

Jim didn't even bother to shrug this time. Simon's patience suddenly snapped. He grabbed Jim's shoulder and swung him around, chair and all. "You are not doing him a bit of good, sitting in this chair staring at him like a goddamned idiot! But you WILL be doing some good down at the station, sitting in on interviews, seeing if you remember any of these bastards, making a statement. Do I make myself clear, Detective?" 

Jim sighed, and seemed to shrink down into himself. "There's a blue stuffed bear in the gift shop." 

Simon blinked. "What?" 

"A blue stuffed bear. Go buy it, okay?" 

"Look, Jim..." 

"No, YOU look, Simon! I am not leaving him to wake up by himself, I'm just, I'm, I won't do it, okay?" Jim's voice softened to a whisper. "Not again." 

Simon looked as if he would protest, but then he had a sudden vision: a bright blue sky, a fountain, and water. So much goddamned water. He turned for the door, muttering, "Chocolate, he likes chocolate, too." 

Jim turned back to the bed. 

* * *

Blair slowly opened his eyes. /Fuck, this is getting old. Or maybe I am. Either way, it hurts more every time./ He looked around the hospital room, immediately noticing the lack of Jim. He swallowed hard, his whole body throbbing with pain. 

He reached out for the call button, and saw the stuffed bear sitting on the bedside table. /What the hell?/ He squinted his eyes; he was just able to read the note written on the card propped up next to the bear: 

"B-  
off thwarting evil.  
-J" 

Blair smiled. "You asshole." He was still smiling as he drifted back to sleep. 

* * *

Blair was not smiling two days later. He was, in fact, fuming. He would have been pacing around his hospital room if he could have managed the crutches with his arm in the sling. He settled for kicking the bed with his good foot and cursing Jim in every language he knew. 

His mood was not improved by the sight of Megan Conner pushing a wheelchair into his room. "Hey, Sandy, I'm here to spring you!" She let out a low whistle. "Oi, you look like a mile of bad road!" 

"Yeah, and I FEEL like one, too. Where the hell's Jim?" 

Megan looked away, a slight blush staining her cheeks. "Well, you know, the whole Verma thing, statements, paperwork..." Her voice trailed away. 

Blair glared at Megan as he limped over to the wheelchair. "Don't bother to lie for him. He's not busy. He's just avoiding me, right?" 

"Well, I wouldn't say 'avoiding', really. See, he feels really bad, Sandy, and he's a guy and he's not really dealing-" 

"Shut up!" Blair flung himself into the wheelchair and made 'get going' motions with his hands. "I am NOT going through this shit again, okay? I just am NOT going to do it. I mean, what? Are we going to do the 'guilty-hate me-hurt me-push me away' thing EVERY time I die?" 

Megan gasped and looked shocked. Blair just stared at her. "Well, Sandy, I mean, you don't talk about that. You don't LET people talk about it. I mean, you know..." 

"Come on, Conner, let's move here!" Blair sighed in relief as they finally left the hospital room. "I don't talk about it because there's nothing to talk ABOUT. You want to talk about it? I died, I came back, it fucking hurt, I don't recommend it. There! We've talked about it." 

"Oh, Sandy." The compassion in her voice irritated Blair. He reached back to pat her hand. "Look, just get me home, okay? I've got some serious Ellison ass-whupping to do. And no, you can't watch." He tilted his head back to wink at her, not caring how it pulled the stitches. "But I WILL get you photos." 

* * *

Jim practically shoved Megan out the door of the loft. It had been hard enough to hold on to his resolve in the face of Blair's pain as he saw all the boxes, packed up in the middle of the living room. Again. He didn't have the energy to deal with Megan's bleating as well. 

He turned to find Blair sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, a strangely blank expression on his face. /This is it./ Jim thought. /Play ball./ He coughed and went on the offensive. "Look, Sandburg, it's just...time. You know?" 

"Time?" 

"For Christ's sake, Chief, you're in your thirties, and you're living in a closet under my stairs! Don't you think it's time you showed a little class and moved out?" 

Blair just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Jim winced inwardly. /He always has to make things so difficult./ Another quick glance at Blair's battered face, left eye swollen nearly shut, lip split /My fault!/ and Jim knew he was doing the right thing. 

"Fine, then. We can do this hard or easy, Sandburg, but either way, I want you out of the loft. Today." 

"Tough shit. I'm not going." 

"What? The hell you're NOT, Sandburg! You're going if I have to throw your stuff off the balcony to do it!" 

"It's too late for that, Jim. I'm not a fucking fish!" 

Jim's head swam, just as it always did when he fought with Blair. "What the hell-" 

Blair pushed off the table and walked over to Jim, his voice angrily rising. "This is not the Sandburg 'Catch and Release' program, okay? I am not a library book, this is not a department store! There are no returns here; you got that? No fucking returns!" He shoved Jim in the middle of his chest, sending him stumbling backwards until he hit the wall. 

"What the FUCK are you talking about, Sandburg?" 

"I'm talking about my LIFE, Jim, that's what I'm talking about! I was dead, and you went back and got me! It's not some kind of exchange program! You got me and now you're STUCK with me, forever, for all time, okay? So you just better get used to me because I am Never. Ever. Leaving!" 

Jim stared blankly at Blair, who was practically vibrating with anger. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but really couldn't think of anything to say. He finally managed, "Huh?" 

"Oh, very eloquent, Jim." 

Jim closed his eyes and sighed. /Why is it always so HARD with him?/ He decided to go with the truth. /Maybe, just this once, it will work for me./ He opened his eyes and walked over to Blair. "Let's go sit down, okay?" He ushered Blair over to the couch, and got him comfortably settled in the corner, leg propped up on the cushions. Jim sat in the other corner facing Blair, hands twisting in his lap. 

Blair sighed and poked Jim in the knee with his cast. "Well? Say something!" 

Jim shrugged. /What the hell./ "It's like this, Chief. You've lived here for three years now, and every time I turn around, you're always hurt! You're shot or kidnapped or beaten up or drugged, and you don't deserve ANY of it! Dammit, you DIED, and it was all because of me! If you weren't hanging around me, this stuff wouldn't happen! You'd be on an expedition somewhere, safe and happy, and... you're laughing! What the hell are you laughing at?!" 

Blair was laughing so hard tears were running down his face. He clutched at his ribs. "Hurts, man!" He got his laughter under control, and wiped his face. "My God, Ellison, you need to get over yourself!" 

"What?" 

"'It's all my fault!' What, like you're God or something? The world will keep turning without you, Jim." 

"Blair, you're just making this ha-" 

"Listen, Jim, YOU didn't kidnap me; Lash did. YOU didn't drop me down an elevator shaft; Galileo did. YOU didn't kill me; Alex did." 

"And I suppose I didn't beat the crap out of you?" 

Blair looked solemn. "No, you didn't. It was the drug. Blame the Verma group if you have to blame someone." 

Jim slapped his hand against the arm of the couch. "But none of that would have happened if you hadn't been with ME!" 

"Ever hear of free will, Jim? We're not handcuffed together, or anything. It's not like I HAVE to go out on stakeouts with you; I choose to. Just like I CHOSE to get on the elevator, I CHOSE to help Alex, I CHOSE to jump out of the fucking airplane! MY choices, Jim. Nobody's fault but mine." 

"But-" 

"No buts! This whole thing!" Blair waved his arm across his body. "I didn't HAVE to try to stop you. Simon was on his way. I could have just let you wander outside naked. You would have been REAL easy to follow." 

"Well, why didn't you? Why didn't you? And why do you do... everything? Huh? Why do you DO all that stuff?" 

Blair looked disgusted. "Why? Why do you THINK? Because I LOVE you, you fucking moron!" He threw a pillow smack into Jim's face, who was too stunned to deflect it. Blair looked at Jim's shocked face and began muttering to himself. "Detective of the Year, my ass! The clue bus ran him down and parked on his head and he STILL doesn't get it! I jumped out of a plane for the man, why the hell did he THINK I did-" 

"Blair?" 

"What?" 

"What you said. Um. Do you mean. I mean, do you love me, or do you LOVE me?" 

Blair blinked twice. "You know, I actually understood that. I LOVE you, man." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

They both ginned goofily at each other, until Jim suddenly looked startled and blurted out, "I love you, too. LOVE you, I mean." He waved a hand at all the boxes. "That's why I did this. So you'd leave and be safe. Because I love you." 

"Yeah, I got that, Jim. And that's why I wouldn't leave. Because I love you." 

Jim wrinkled his nose. "Getting kind of sickening here, Chief." 

"Yup." They grinned at each other a little longer. Jim slowly reached out his hand and gently rubbed a finger against Blair's cast. "I hurt you, Chief." 

"Jim-" 

Jim raised a hand, cutting Blair off. "So: shouldn't I kiss it, and make it better?" 

Blair smiled, a slow, sultry smile, filled with invitation. He slid a little lower in the couch, until he was almost lying down, and quirked an eyebrow. Jim took a deep breath and slowly dialed up. 

Blair's scent, dark and smoky and uniquely Blair, burst over him, pushed along by the rising heat of Blair's body. Jim licked his lips; he could almost taste it, taste Blair. He crawled along the couch until he was straddled over Blair, carefully not touching any of his injuries. He leaned in and gently, tenderly laid the softest of kisses against the corner of Blair's split lip. 

Blair moaned and arched his neck, seeking greater contact, but Jim buried his hands in Blair's hair and held him still. "Shhhh. Just lie there and let me do the work, okay?" 

"But Jim- " 

"You're just going to hurt yourself more." 

"I don't care! It'll be worth it!" 

Jim stroked his thumbs along Blair's cheekbones. "Just let me do this, okay? Just let me love you." Without waiting for an answer he began dropping feather-light kisses all over Blair's face, kissing every bruise, soothing every hurt. Blair sighed beneath him and melted into the couch even as a sullen tension began spiraling through him. 

Jim pulled one hand free from Blair's hair and reached under Blair's shirt, lightly skimming over the cracked ribs. He carded his fingers through the chest hair, reveling in its softness. He found a nipple and rolled it between his fingers, causing Blair to cry out and arch his hips into Jim, his erection branding Jim's stomach, even through two layers of clothing. 

Jim moaned at the heat, and moved his hand to cup Blair through his jeans. He pressed the hardness, feeling it swell beneath his hand. He leaned down to lick Blair's stomach. "I bet this hurts most of all, huh, Chief?" He watched with darkened eyes as Blair, beyond words, tossed his head back and forth on the couch, giving tacit permission. 

Jim carefully pulled down Blair's pants and boxers, trying not to jostle him. Blair fisted his hands into the cushions and began murmuring 'pleasepleasepleaseplease" under his breath. Jim grinned and then swallowed Blair to the root, sucking hard. 

Blair screamed and tried to thrust, but Jim held him firmly by the hips. Jim's senses were spiraling out of control; the feel of Blair, his taste, his smell, the small incoherent sounds he was making, all conspired to push Jim to the edge as well. He tightened his grasp on Blair's hips and opened his throat, allowing Blair completely inside. He felt Blair grow impossibly larger within his mouth, and then with a harsh scream, Blair emptied himself into Jim's mouth, collapsing bonelessly. 

The taste of Blair, flowing in hot ropes across Jim's tongue, was so pure, so intimate, it pushed him beyond reason, and he followed Blair into the oblivion of orgasm. His senses spiked out of control, and he slid into unconsciousness, still suckling gently on Blair's softening length. 

A hand moving softly through his hair roused him. Jim looked up to find Blair staring at him with a sated, fond look on his face. He pulled Jim's ear. "Hey." 

"Hey yourself, Chief." 

Blair snorted. "You had my dick in your mouth, Jim. I'd think you could call me Blair." 

Jim rubbed his cheek against Blair's bare thigh, relishing the sound of Blair's quickly indrawn breath. "Not right now. Tonight I'm just going to call you 'Mine'." 

* * *

End No Returns by Blankety: blankstreet@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
